


A Porcelain Heart

by BigBadLittleRed



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anxiety Attacks, Blood Drinking, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Daddy Kink, Depression, Dom Margo, Dom/sub, Dry Humping, Marking, Mentions of Suicide Attempt, Mild Humiliation, Multi, Possessive Behavior, Public Sex, Spanking, Sub Quentin, controlling Margo and Eliot, dom eliot, this is gonna get kinky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-07 13:30:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14081994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigBadLittleRed/pseuds/BigBadLittleRed
Summary: Quentin Coldwater has lived most of his life feeling without purpose, it's no surprise that when the opportunity arises for him to do something about it, he jumps at the chance. How will he adapt to becoming the immortal plaything of two vampires that are infatuated with him?





	1. The Strange Suitors

**Author's Note:**

> ( Inspired by the lovely mind of @staryqueliot on Tumblr, who thought this wonderful idea up! Go follow them on Tumblr )

The frigid New York air whips around him as he paces down the street, nearby buildings covered with flashing signs that light up the city like an 8-bit video game. He had come to visit his best friend, Julia, and her boyfriend James now that they had moved out into the city for her to go to NYU. Quentin had been sad to see her go but they had been growing apart for some time now and he couldn’t find the will to stop hating himself enough to stop it.

 

He had picked Yale himself, so they weren’t far apart in the slightest. It was only an hour and a half of driving, most of which Quentin spent dissociated and thinking about anything but reality. He was still taking his pills, but to be honest even after he had tried to give up his childish hopes and dreams, his outlook was still dismal. It had taken only a few hours before Julia and Quentin had started to argue, something meaningless that was hiding the true sentiment that their relationship was falling apart.

 

He had left in his agitation and had been wandering aimlessly around New York as if he really knew where the hell he was going. It was early in the evening, but this was a dangerous city and he was a pathetic looking nerd, so he knew the chances of getting mugged were great. But he couldn’t quite care, wasn’t like he really had anything on him anyway.

 

Quentin hunches in on himself further, hands stuck under his arms to warm them. He could go back, he wasn’t even really mad anymore, but he didn’t want to face the reality of it again. That was always his problem, Julia told him, his head was in the clouds.

 

He stops in front of an alley when he hears a clatter, turning his head and peering into the darkness warily. He wouldn’t go down there, not even he was that gullible, but he was curious.

 

“Hello,” He startles, turning around and finding a young woman standing before him. She’s dressed to the nines, with dark brown hair that is somehow not very messy in the slightest even out in the harsh fall air.

 

“Um, hi?” He replies, frowning a little, watching the woman’s pink painted lips stretch into a smirk.

 

“He’s not that cute,” She calls over Quentin’s shoulder, he cautiously glances behind him and watches a tall young man slip from the shadows. He too, is fashionably dressed, with perfectly coifed curls. Quentin feels something in his gut turn, instinctually wary of the predatory look the man gives him.

 

“I think he’s darling,” The man replies, his voice is both unexpected and perfectly reasonable, smooth and lilting but also with a hint of a rougher undertone.

 

“I-I just have to say right now that I’m a… uh broke college student on a scholarship, so if you want money all I have is like five bucks on me.” Quentin finally finds it in himself to say, tired and not in the mood for whatever weird fuckery this was.

 

“We don’t need your money, honey.” The young woman says, delightfully amused. The young man approaches, towering over him easily, Quentin can’t help but cower a little and lower his head to look away from such a powerful presence.

 

“My name is Eliot,” The young man says, wrapping an arm around Quentin’s shoulders. “This is Margo…” He gestures to the woman, who wiggles her fingers at him in a teasing wave.

 

“Nice to meet you… I-I guess…” Quentin mutters, crossing his arms and blowing out a sigh. “I should get going.” He finally decides, trying to step away and getting snagged by the hood of his hoodie and yanked back. For a moment, he’s worried, ready to get absolutely murdered by these two freaks. At least they were attractive freaks, it’s a strange boost to his self-esteem.

 

“If you ever want to have some fun,” Eliot reaches his arm over Quentin, chest pressed to his back, holding up a piece of paper. “Just give us a call,” Quentin takes the slip of paper, which is folded into a neat square.

 

“Thanks, I guess…” He says, shoving it into the pocket of his hoodie.

 

“Well you can’t leave without telling us your name,” Margo insists, sliding forward and leaning against his front. Quentin can feel an intense blush building slowly on his cheeks, he’s probably bright red by now.

 

“Quentin… Quentin Coldwater.” He replies, watching Margo bite her lip as her eyes flicker to the man standing behind Quentin.

 

“Like a name from a fairytale,” Eliot purrs against his ear, Quentin shivers silently and pulls out of his grip. He steps away, they don’t follow, head into a nearby club with a couple of casual waves. Quentin walks back to Julia’s place, he doesn’t tell her about what happened.

 

-

 

He throws the note in the drawer of his desk when he gets home the next morning, and forgets about it for a good while. It’s a few weeks later when he is out at a bar with Julia, that he sees the two again. Julia is having her birthday party, opening gifts as people mill about. James is smiling and talking, Julia is looking at him like he hung the moon, and Quentin feels out of place.

 

He drops off his empty glass at the bar, glancing through the crowd. For a moment, he thinks he sees a familiar face, but he’s buzzed and getting anxious, so he writes it off as one of James’s buddies and turns away. He slips out of the bar for some fresh air, or some cold polluted air really, but at least there were less people outside. He leans against a brick wall and stares up at the black sky, the stars not nearly visible with all the lights.

 

The door opens and Quentin adjusts his jacket, peering down at his feet as he waits for the person to leave the general vicinity so he can continue his peaceful alone time. But the footsteps stop just a few feet away, and there’s a stillness that follows that has Quentin glancing up through his fringe.

 

“Hi pretty boy,” He recognizes the face immediately, eyes widening at the realization, which seems to amuse Eliot as he smiles coyly. “Not a partier, huh?” He steps over, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it up as he stands in front of Quentin.

 

“N-No,” He shakes his head, fidgeting his hands together as the taller man takes a long drag of his cigarette.

 

“You never called,” Eliot comments, Quentin can’t find the words to reply so he merely hums in agreement. “Did you think about it?” He questions, balancing the cigarette in the corner of his mouth before reaching over and adjusting Quentin’s jacket for him casually.

 

“Why would I call two people who walked up to me in the middle of the street and gave me their number?” Quentin can’t help but say in return, crossing his arms. “You could be a dangerous murderer or something.” He mumbles, Eliot chuckles quietly.

 

“We all know that if we wanted to kill you, we would have done it right then and there.” He says with a shake of his head, offering his cigarette to Quentin, who shakes his head in a silent turn down. The man shrugs and takes another deep inhale, smoke curling from his lips as he squints an eye up at the sky.

 

“Where’s your friend?” Quentin decides to ask, to which Eliot nods his head to the door.

 

“Inside, grinding up on a delicious looking piece of ass.” He drops the rest of his cigarette, using his pristinely shined shoe to stub it out. “She thinks I’ll do a better job of convincing you to come back to our place for the night.” He places his hands on his hips as Quentin splutters in disbelief.

 

“I don’t even know you!” He objects, Eliot sighs and leans a hand against the wall, then seems to think better of it as he pulls back and grimaces at his palm.

 

“Well then you can come by our place and we can talk,” He offers, Quentin looks down at the ground, breath catching in his throat when Eliot reaches out and presses two fingers under his chin. “I’m not easily deterred, I almost always get what I want.” He says quietly, Quentin can feel his heart pulsing so hard it vibrates through his body, wonders if Eliot can hear it too with how loud it is.

 

“Why me?” Quentin can’t help but wonder aloud, swallowing reflexively when Eliot corners him against the wall. He leans forward, one hand reaching up to cup Quentin’s jaw, and then they’re kissing. It’s slow and methodical, Eliot tastes like cigarettes and there’s a little bitterness that reminds him of some sort of fruit flavored alcohol.

 

Eliot breaks their lips apart and pulls at the back of his neck, tilting his head to get at the right side. Quentin’s hands find purchase in the crisp fabric of Eliot’s vest, breathing raggedly as Eliot sucks and nips, probably giving him a sincere hickey. He jerks with a startled whimper when the man’s teeth bite down, a gasp escaping his lips at the sharp pain of skin being pierced.

 

He has the urge to push him away, his rational mind telling him that this was getting out of hand. But he holds on as Eliot licks over the wound and then gently peppers a few kisses over it in silent apology. When he leans back, straightening out to stand at his full height, he’s got a small satisfied smirk on his face. He tilts down briefly to kiss Quentin’s lips again, something simple and chaste.

 

“Still got our number?” He asks, reaching out to brush a lock of hair behind Quentin’s ear.

 

“U-Uh,” He tries to recall, his brain lagging from the arousing and confusing things he just experienced.

 

“Here,” He pulls out a napkin, which has pen written on it in neat handwriting. Quentin takes it, glancing down and reading the words beneath the number.

 

_Eliot and Margo_

_XOXO_

He looks up, finding Eliot nowhere in sight, he tightens his hand around the napkin and heads inside. After a minute or two of looking, he comes to the oddly disappointing realization that the two had disappeared. He retreats back to the table in a daze, sinking down next to Julia.

 

“Hey, was starting to think you made a run for it.” Julia jokes, wrapping an arm around his waist with a smirk. Her eyes widen suddenly, almost comically, as she leans away. “Is that a hickey?” She demands with a laugh, James leans forward against the table to get a look as Quentin hurriedly reaches up to cover it.

 

“Dude, talk about a vampire bite!” James grins, reaching over to give Quentin a friendly pat. “You get her number?” He asks, Quentin weakly holds up the napkin, which Julia snatches from him.

 

“Eliot and Margo,” She reads, James crows with delight as Julia arches an eyebrow at her friend.

 

“You dog!” He jeers, Quentin takes the napkin back and shoves it into his pocket, flushing with embarrassment. Julia smirks at him, nudging their shoulders together, a faint smile finds his own lips.


	2. The Date

He calls Eliot and Margo the Friday after that, having been staring at the number for the entire six days before. As the line rings, his mind races with thoughts as he tries his best not to hang up out of anxiety. What if this was a fake number? What if they changed their minds? What if-

 

“Hello?” He can’t help the soft inhale of surprise at the feminine voice on the other end of the line. He’s wordless, shocked into silence by the sudden reality of it all. “I can hear you breathing, speak now or I’m hanging up.”

 

“U-Uh, hi.” He starts out meekly, squirming in his seat as if he were under the eyes of Margo herself and not merely talking to her. “It’s uh… Quentin? Coldwater? We originally met on the street but then you saw me in a bar, well I saw Eliot, but I didn’t see you but he… he said you were there. Y-You um… gave me your number?” He explains, voice turning higher in pitch near the end as he runs out of air.

 

“Decided to call after all, then?” Margo replies, sounding amused.

 

“Eliot offered… A meet up, of some sort. So we could get to know one another?” He explains, she hums over the line thoughtfully.

 

“Why don’t you come to our place this weekend?” She suggests, he sits up straighter on his bed and inhales.

 

“That… That sounds great.” He agrees.

 

“Saturday night at ten, we live on 79th street. Big building, gold numbers near the door, 1289. We’re on the top floor, got a whole loft to ourselves.” She explains, Quentin launches himself to grab a pen, quickly writing down the information on a nearby study sheet he had printed out.

 

“O-Okay,” He agrees with a small smile, setting his pen down. “Should I bring anything?” He questions, the girl hums once more, it sounds more like she’s hiding a laugh than anything else though.

 

“Just your puppy dog eyes and that perky little ass.” She quips in return, he chokes in surprise and there’s the click of her hanging up. He slowly sets down his phone, feeling both insanely nervous and extremely accomplished. He had a… Was this a date? No, just a pretense for a hookup, maybe…

 

Oh god, what was he doing?

 

-

 

Quentin changes his shirt three times before he leaves on Saturday, fusses over his hair and tries his best to look at least somewhat presentable. Margo and Eliot were fashionable, well-dressed, Quentin didn’t want to disappoint them.

 

He gets out of the cab on 79th street and pays the driver, waiting for him to drive away to make his way down to the building. It is big, tall, but it looks strangely old and vacant. He suddenly has the sinking feeling that it’s abandoned, that they led him on as some sort of cruel prank. He pulls out his phone as he checks the address, slowly climbing the steps as he dials their number.

 

“House of fancy sluts, Eliot speaking, how may I help you?” Quentin has to choke down a laugh at the greeting, smirking just a little as he shuffles his feet.

 

“I’m here, but I think you gave me the wrong address.” He explains, then adds on afterwards briefly. “It’s Quentin.”

 

“Let me see,” There’s quiet for a moment, then Eliot chuckles across the line. “Nice shirt, good to know you clean up nice.” Quentin immediately spins around, searching for the young man, frowning as he laughs raucously over the phone. “We have a camera above the door, you’re adorable.” Quentin searches above the door and spots the camera, the red light shining gently.

 

“Oh, hi.” He waves at the camera awkwardly, then points to the door. “So I just… Come in?” He questions, Eliot hums his affirmation.

 

“The second set of doors is locked, there’s a key under the mat.” He tells Quentin, who frowns as he steps inside. Surely that wasn’t their only other security measure? What about the other people in the building, did they all have their own key to the front doors?

 

He unlocks the door and sets the key back under the mat before stepping inside. The air is stale, and he’s immediately concerned with how it seemed that nobody had really been in the lobby in a long time. Cobwebs, trash, not to mention peeling paint.

 

“This is…” He’s unsure of what to say, Eliot chuckles.

 

“A dump, yes. Take the elevator, fifth floor.” He instructs, Quentin cautiously heads towards the elevator and is surprised to see that it works, and it seems to have been used recently. Eliot hangs up and promises to see him soon, Quentin pockets his phone and cautiously steps into the elevator.

 

The elevator is a little old, but despite a loud whirring noise as it moves, there are no other problems. He steps off the elevator and finds that the top floor is nicely cleaned, there’s a small hallway with two doors on either side. As he steps forward, the one on the left opens, Eliot leans out.

 

“Don’t you look sweet enough to eat.” He says as Quentin approaches, taking him gently by the waist to kiss him firmly. Quentin leans up on his toes into the kiss, and when they break apart, Eliot takes his hand. “Come on in,” He insists, pulling him through the door.

 

The loft is nothing like what he was expecting after the stuff he witnessed downstairs. There’s a nice wooden flooring just inside the door, which leads to a lush looking carpet that decorates the floor of a nicely decorated living room. There’s a big wall on the other side, where a mass of window panes lay, the curtains are drawn halfway closed.

 

“Nice place,” He says, Eliot leads him over to the couch. It’s firm but comfortable, with soft leather fabric that is cool to the touch as he rests his hands on either side of him.

 

“Margo is just primping,” He explains, sinking down onto the couch next to Quentin. He takes a lock of Quentin’s hair and twirls it gently on his finger. “What’d your friends think of my handiwork?” He asks, nodding to the still-healing mark on his neck.

 

“They were pretty surprised, I haven’t really been with anyone since sophomore year of college.” He admits quietly, Eliot coos at him and leans in to kiss his jaw.

 

“Margo just lost a bet, she figured you were a virgin.” Quentin can’t help the way his head snaps around at that, Eliot grins and kisses him. “That’s okay, virgin or not, we’re still interested.” He promises, Quentin frowns down at his lap and Eliot reaches out to rub his chest. It’s strangely intimate, but also comforting in a way. He’s felt drawn to people before, sexually, but this felt stronger somehow.

 

“Eliot, is this for me? You shouldn’t have.” They both look up as Margo steps into the room, a predatory smirk on her face.

 

“Doesn’t he clean up nice?’ Eliot smooths his fingers over the collar of Quentin’s dress shirt, it’s a salmon color. He really didn’t like it all that much, but at the time when he left it seemed okay. He suddenly has the urge to change again, but that’s out of the question.

 

“Looks like a present, just begging to be unwrapped.” She saunters over and sits down on Quentin’s other side, taking his chin between her fingers to look his face over in appraisal. He breathes out nervously, but Margo seems to find what she’s looking for because she pulls him in to a heated kiss. When they pull back, she wipes at her bottom lip and then drags the pad of her thumb over the corner of Quentin’s mouth, most likely trying to remove her lipstick.

 

“All right, before we can get to the fun part,” Eliot says, rolling his eyes a little and leaning his temple against his fist as he props his arm on the back of the couch. “We have a lot of boring discussions to have.” He tells the other, who nods slowly.

 

“The first being, that we… are vampires.” Margo says simply, Quentin blinks at her. They’re quiet for a few seconds, as Quentin tries to process this. “I think I broke him,” She snorts, Eliot sighs quietly and Quentin slowly turns his head to glance at the other man before looking back at Margo.

 

“Like… You have some sort of blood kink or something?” Quentin asks warily, Margo snorts.

 

“Yes and no,” She replies.

 

“We’re actual vampires, fangs, anti-sunlight, the works.” Eliot explains casually, Quentin looks between them for a moment, still confused.

 

“Oh god,” He stands up, running his hands through his hair. “I’m crazy, aren’t I?” He crosses his arms, peering around for any signs of things looking out of place. “This is a hallucination, a delusion. I’m sitting in an apartment with a couple of cocaine addicts that’ll probably murder me.” He turns in a distressed circle, but Eliot and Margo are still seated when he gets back to his starting point.

 

“Put him out of his misery, this isn’t fun, it’s just kinda making me sad.” Margo says, Eliot stands up and tries to take Quentin by the hands. He tries to pull away, freaked out and worked up, but Eliot grabs his face instead.

 

“Look at me, Q.” He says, Quentin forces himself to meet his eyes. His lips twitch, and then slowly stretch back to show off the fact that about four of his top teeth are mildly elongated and sharp. Quentin tries to think, has he ever seen Eliot’s teeth up close? He definitely would have noticed that making out with him, right? They didn’t look fake either….

 

He feels lightheaded, woozy, there’s the sound of glass shattering and Eliot cursing as everything goes black.


	3. Mind Blown

When he wakes up, Quentin’s not even sure what’s going on, the feeling of fingers brushing his cheek stirring him further into consciousness. He pries his eyes open, finding himself in a strange room with the man he had a meeting with, Eliot. He’s confused, then concerned, and then it comes back to him.

 

“Jesus,” He groans, his head twinging as he slowly sits up.

 

“Careful, you took one nasty spill.” Eliot murmurs, putting a hand to his back. Margo is suddenly leaning over the back of the couch, brushing some of his hair out of his face.

 

“What…” He spots the broken glass coffee table nearby, and shame pours into him like water in a glass. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry.” He’s such an idiot, he can never get anything right. “I’ll pay for it.” He says weakly, watching Margo and Eliot lock eyes for a moment, they don’t seem mad.

 

“You couldn’t afford it, and it doesn’t matter.” Margo tells him, Quentin reaches up to rub his face and realizes he has some gauze on his hand. At his pause, Eliot shifts on the edge of the couch and pulls his hand from Quentin’s back.

 

“You cut your hand when you fell,” He explains, and at the sight of the red staining white, he recalls the reason he’d been so out of sorts.

 

“Let me see your teeth,” Quentin says, reaching up and touching Eliot’s jaw. The young man opens his mouth, but there are no fangs to be seen. “They were fake, right? You’re just fucking with me.” Quentin can’t help but laugh uncomfortably, his eyes widen when the teeth sharpen right in front of him.

 

“El,” Margo scolds, Eliot shrugs his shoulders.

 

“If he passes out again, at least he’s sitting down.” He says with a wave of his hand, Quentin leans back against the arm of the couch and breathes out slowly.

 

“Vampires,” He mumbles, looking down at his lap. “This is some Twilight shit.” He says under his breath, Eliot snorts and Margo steps around to the front of the couch. She slides under his stretched-out legs, balancing them on her lap.

 

“Honey, we are much better than those glittery freaks.” She reaches out and takes his uninjured hand in her own finely manicured one.

 

“Why… Would you tell me this?” He questions, watching as the two lock eyes and have a silent conversation.

 

“We have a proposition for you,” Eliot says, getting straight to the point. “We need a human, a pet, if you will.” Quentin’s eyes widen slightly, but surprisingly he doesn’t have the urge to run, was he turned on by this?

 

“For what?” He asks with mild hesitation.

 

“Well for one thing, entertainment.” Margo purrs, her nails sliding under his chin in a caress, Eliot nods his agreement.

 

“Daytime errands, fun, something to keep us from being so bored all the time.” Eliot pulls him in and gives him a slow kiss, which relaxes him more than he’s willing to admit. “That’s why I marked you,” He says as they pull away, the pads of his fingers brushing over the wound that was mostly gone now.

 

“Shit,” He covers it with a hand, eyes widening. “Am I gonna turn into a vampire?” He demands, Eliot smirks.

 

“No, of course not. It’d defeat the purpose of us going through the trouble of putting you through all of this.” He explains, rubbing Quentin’s arm. “You have to be drained of all your blood then drink the blood of a vampire to become a vampire.” Eliot informs him, lips twisting into a small frown.

 

“However, if you were to stick around… We’d have to make sure you lasted.” Margo says quietly, Quentin chews the inside of his cheek.

 

“Lasted… How?”

 

“We make you a halfling of sorts, part human, part vampire.” Eliot fidgets with the rolled-up sleeve of Quentin’s shirt.

 

“And that’ll do what, exactly?” His voice is getting a little squeaky, but Margo and Eliot elect to ignore it.

 

“You drink from us every couple of months and you stay as young as you are now for as long as you like.” Eliot stands up, stepping over the broken glass to fetch a tumbler of what seems to be vodka.

 

“So just what?” Quentin asks with a helpless shrug. “Pick up after you, have sex, run errands? You want an immortal house boy?” He demands, Eliot smirks against the rim of his glass.

 

“You can think about it for a week, you see us next Saturday with your decision.” Margo offers, Quentin’s brain is screaming at him to just leave now. This was a mistake, a fatal mistake, how could he just do something like this?

 

“But know that once you’re ours, you’re ours. You can’t be with anyone else.” Eliot says with a gesture of his glass.

 

“Would the change have any other effect on me? Long term?” Quentin asks, voice gentle and cautious.

 

“If you spent the rest of existence with us, drinking our blood, nothing would ever happen.” Margo rubs his knee, accepting a drink when Eliot offers it to her. She takes a sip, leaning back against the couch. “You change your mind in ten years, we stop, you’ll age ten years pretty quick. We stop in a hundred years, you’ll die.” She tells him.

 

Quentin bites at his thumb nail anxiously, getting swatted at by Margo for it. Eliot walks back over to the couch and sits down next to him, holding up his half empty glass.

 

“You are far too sober for this right now,” He muses, pressing the tumbler to Quentin’s lips and tipping it gently. He takes a long swallow, finishing it off, the burn in his throat sends a shiver up his spine.

 

“You steady enough for some heavy frottage or should we just get wasted?” Margo questions, Quentin wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and reaches out for Margo. “Needy boy, I like it.” She slips out from under his legs to sit in his lap, dragging her fingers through his hair and tilting his head back with a tug of his locks to press their mouths together.

 

His hands find her waist, pulling her closer as she practically annihilates him with her tongue. He finds himself arching himself up into her, trying to find friction for his steadily hardening cock. Margo lets out a delighted laugh when the movement bucks her a little, leaning back to look at Eliot.

 

“When’s the last time you did something like this?” Margo asks playfully, unbuttoning his shirt slowly.

 

“U-Uh… I was probably twenty-one…” He admits quietly, Margo coos adoringly at him, like he was a cute puppy that had just learned to roll over.

 

“How old are you now?” Eliot shifts forward to kiss him, only breaking away to push his shirt off of one of his shoulders and start to nip at the skin.

 

“Twenty-four.” He confesses, blushing when Margo pinches his cheek teasingly.

 

“God, I feel like a cougar.” She sighs, Quentin frowns.

 

“You look my age,” He offers, and she grins at him, obviously pleased.

 

“Try adding about eighty-five years, sweet boy.” Eliot says between hickeys; Quentin’s eyes widen and then he’s being brought into another fierce kiss by Margo. The young woman (older, much older, Quentin’s mind reminds him) grinds down against him and he inhales sharply as he squeezes her sides.

 

“Consensus?” Eliot quips as he leans back, Margo pulls away from Quentin’s lips.

 

“He’s got potential,” She takes his hands and pushes them down at his sides, he obediently rests his hands on the cushions. “I have to say, I’m more than intrigued.” The words send the blood that’s not in his dick to his face, she coos at him again and caresses his cheek.

 

“Margo, remember to share.” Eliot chides mockingly, the young woman slips away and Quentin’s face flushes darker when he lets out an accidental whimper of loss. “C’mere, puppy.” Eliot shifts further onto the seat, grabbing Quentin and pulling him over into his lap to straddle him without any effort at all.

 

“I definitely like this view,” Margo hums, laying back against the other arm of the couch and watching them lazily. Eliot pulls Quentin down into a kiss, one hand on the back of his neck and the other reaching around to grab a handful of his ass. Quentin rocks down into his grip, grinding their crotches together.

 

“Easy,” Eliot warns, giving him a look that has him pausing in his movements immediately. “Good boy.” He says in a husky whisper, giving his bottom another squeeze in reward.

 

They kiss again, Quentin keeps his hips impatiently and agonizingly still this time. His dick is hard and at attention now, pressing against his zipper and aching from the lack of friction. He jerks when Eliot’s hand reaches down to cup it in one of his hands, his palm is big enough to make Quentin feel small. He presses against it, as if daring him to thrust against the pressure, Quentin knocks their teeth together on accident and Eliot pulls back.

 

“Let’s see what we’re working with,” Eliot suggests, glancing up at Quentin only for a moment to gauge his reaction, before practically slamming him onto the couch cushions on his back with his legs thrown awkwardly over the older man’s lap. His head lands in Margo’s lap, on her thigh to be specific, she gives him a quick pat on his cheek but is too busy focusing on where Eliot is undoing Quentin’s skinny jeans.

 

His humiliation and embarrassment levels are on high immediately, face red as he throws his arms up to cover it. But he doesn’t move, he doesn’t want to, a part of him is getting off on this strange game of being controlled and thrown around… Just a toy for Margo and Eliot to have fun with.

 

His jeans are tugged from his hips, down only to his thighs to expose his tight boxer-briefs that he’d worn special because the rest of his underwear (mostly boxers) were starting to get unseemly and filled with holes after a lengthy couple of years of use. Eliot’s hands slip under him, between the couch and holding at his waistline as he’s pulled just a little.

 

“Arms, Margo, don’t let him cover that pretty face.” Eliot says, voice holding that same lilt of amusement from the first night they met, but it’s a little throatier with what Quentin realizes is arousal. Margo wrangles Quentin’s arms much easier than he thought she could, pulling them just above his head, wrists against the crown of his skull and held firmly in place.

 

He squints open an eye, glancing down at himself and seeing what he looks like overall as an image right now. Shirt hanging completely open to show off his flushed pink chest, the dusky patch of hair between his hard nipples all the way down to his lower half of messy partial undress. Eliot pulls his underwear down; his movements are slow as his fingers skim Quentin’s hips.

 

“Look at that,” Eliot says, almost nonchalantly as the younger man’s cock springs free and smacks against his lower stomach. Quentin has the urge to run, but his squirming elicits Margo to tighten her hold on his wrists and for Eliot to take a firm hold of his legs with one surprisingly strong arm.

 

“It’s not huge,” Margo simpers, which pulls an embarrassed whimper from Quentin’s throat.

 

“Don’t be such a prude,” Eliot gives her a look, then smirks down at Quentin, meeting his eyes for the first time in what feels like forever. “It’s average, sweetheart, don’t let her scare you just because she has a thing for monster cocks.” He leans over and presses a gently kiss to the dip of Quentin’s hip bone.

 

“I can tease him all I like, he’s ours now, isn’t he?” Margo quips in reply, her hand reaches down to caress the underside of his jaw. “Aren’t you?” He can’t help but nod eagerly, Margo grins down at him.

 

“C-Can I…?” Quentin’s voice sounds absolutely awful, a hoarse and awkward mess. He tries to sit up, only to be held firmly in place, Eliot gives him a wary look as if he’s expecting Quentin to put up a fuss, but he falls still obediently instead of trying to fight. “I just wanted to…” His face is probably bright red, he feels exposed under their silent scrutiny.

 

“We can’t say yes if you can’t say it,” Eliot chimes, Quentin takes in a deep breath and exhales slowly.

 

“Can I suck you off?” Margo’s grip on his wrists tighten further, nails digging in just a little, Eliot gives him a wicked grin. He meets the young woman’s eyes, then Margo is releasing his arms.

 

“What can I say? I love a boy that’s eager to please.” He snaps his fingers in front of his knees, Quentin scrambles off the couch and down into a kneel on the carpet in front of him. His jeans are still around his thighs and his cock is firmly caught in the groove of his hip, but he can’t find it in himself to care anymore if he’s going to get to give Eliot a blow job. “Let’s make it a game,” He says, running his fingers through Quentin’s hair casually.

 

“I like games,” Margo says with a smirk, stretching her legs out where Quentin had been laying previously.

 

“Don’t we all?” Eliot muses, reaching down to slip his fingers under Quentin’s chin, tilting his head up so their eyes meet. “You get me to finish before Margo, I’ll help you come after. If not, you have to eat her out and then you get to rut yourself against my leg like a puppy until you get off.”

 

He can’t say he’s not interested in the stakes, both of them to be honest. But he’s not sure if he’d rather one or the other, the first one sounds easy and nice, but the second one involves Quentin eating Margo out. And he can’t say he’s not tempted to throw this game, but he decides he’s going to try his best.

 

“O-Okay,” He agrees, nodding his head. Eliot gives a pleased hum and leans back against the couch, sliding his ass forward to the edge of the cushions.

 

“Go on, take it out.” Eliot says lazily, Quentin moves as fast as light, undoing the older man’s belt and unbuttoning his tight pants to get at his dick. He can feel pre-come building up at the head of his cock just at the sight of Eliot, long and just thick enough to fit his hand around firmly. He can see why he would look less impressive if Margo’s been around this so often. “Ready, Bambi?” He turns his head, where Margo already has her underwear (dark purple, lacy) around her knees and her hand under her dress.

 

“As ever,” She sighs, tilting her head back against the couch as her arm starts to shift as her hand moves carefully out of sight. She looks gorgeous, Quentin spends a few seconds staring at her until Eliot gives him a gentle slap to his cheek.

 

“I’m waiting,” He reminds Quentin, who quickly leans forward and gets back to the task at hand. He licks up the length gently, thinking about the few other dicks he’s seen. His mouth had been around all of those, definitely, he had a thing for putting dicks in his mouth. Getting his mouth around the head is easy, licking the slit and tasting the pre-come there.

 

“He any good?” Margo says, voice a breathy hitch as Quentin slides lower and lets Eliot’s cock fill his mouth. He can hear Eliot breathing harder, feels rewarded when the older man grips his hair and squeezes, forcing his head further down.

 

“We’ll see,” Eliot says, but the tightness in his voice makes Margo laugh.

 

“Oh yeah, he’s good.” She says, hissing as she arches into her own hand. Quentin takes a deep breath through his nose, letting Eliot’s dick slide into his throat carefully. His hand keeps gentle twists and strokes on the base, swallowing is difficult because he hasn’t done it in so long but from Eliot’s pleased sighs he supposes he’s doing okay.

 

Quentin notes the way Margo’s breathing is picking up, hopes that Eliot is close too from the way his leg is getting tense under Quentin’s palm. He moves his hand down to fondle Eliot’s balls, bobbing his head a few times and creating a rhythm almost seamlessly.

 

“Fuck,” Eliot arches into his mouth, effectively choking him. It only lasts a second, so it doesn’t panic him, just surprises him a little bit. He lurches down to follow, moaning against his cock and stroking the bottom of his cock firmly. “Shit!” The older man hisses, jerking again and coming in Quentin’s mouth.

 

He works him through it, pulling back and swallowing with only a mild grimace. He probably could have spit, but sometimes the situation called for it and he didn’t exactly hate it. Quentin finds himself smiling as he looks up at Eliot, heart still racing and jaw sore, but proud. Eliot looks amused, tired, but strangely tickled. He looks to Margo, who is smiling at him lazily as well. He realizes then that Margo had come without him noticing before he finished Eliot off. There’s a bit of disappointment welling inside him, he thought he did so well.

 

“It was a good effort, Q, promise.” Eliot leans forward to kiss his forehead, tucking himself back in his pants and scooting further down the couch. “But, we have a fair and square winner, right here. And she deserves her prize, don’t you think?” He arches an eyebrow, Quentin recalls exactly what that prize is and his painfully hard cock aches with the thought.

 

“Here, boy…” Margo reaches her hand under her knee to pat the cushions in front of her, he pulls himself up onto the couch. Eliot comes up behind him before he can get in position, grabbing his underwear and jeans to pull them back up. Quentin whines softly at the pressure it puts on his cock, Eliot kisses his neck.

 

“Wait your turn, baby.” He reminds Quentin, who nods and shuffles forward between Margo’s legs. He has to push his hair back, but as soon as he’s down in position he’s lost in it. He’s better at this than head, he thinks, had a tendency to lean more towards women and one-night-stands in college. He loved oral, and women loved that he did, it seemed a refreshing change to them.

 

He licks, makes noise, sucks, and even carefully glides his teeth over sensitive areas. Margo is definitely pleased, tugging on his hair until it hurts and squeezing his head between her thighs as she moans and sighs with every expert movement.

 

“Someone has experience,” She says breathlessly, as Eliot moves about the room, not even paying them attention.

 

It’s interesting that Margo and Eliot seemed to hold no affiliation or effect on one another other than being simple friends. It was only Quentin they were interested in here, which only served to further turn him on. He could easily grind down against the cushions, but he had promised them to behave so he would. He found himself surprised how loyal he had become to them, without much hesitation at all, how obedient.

 

Margo comes with a long moan that ends with a rough gasp, pushing at Quentin’s head to signal him being finished. He pulls back, face wet and jaw hurting from the energy he’d exerted on two different people for so long. Eliot returns to the couch, giving Margo a long wine glass that she takes with a small smile.

 

“You did so good, baby.” Margo pulls him forward to kiss his cheekbone, Quentin smiles tiredly.

 

“Quentin,” Eliot sinks down onto the couch again, glowing from his own orgasm still. “Come sit,” He snaps his fingers over the floor again, Quentin slowly gets down and shuffles up against his knees. “You did very good, we’re both pleased.” He smiles, Quentin is immensely relieved by this, unable to stop himself from grinning.

 

His dick is starting to hurt, sensitive and stimulated but not getting the relief he needs. Eliot is quiet a moment, appraising him, Quentin reaches up and wipes the slick from his mouth with the back of his hand messily.

 

“You still want to come, I bet.” He says finally, Quentin nods his head eagerly. “Go ahead,” He slides right leg out a little, and Quentin remembers the last part of the stakes. He had to finish like this, embarrass himself in front of these two because he hadn’t been fast enough. His erection flags just a little, he looks at Eliot’s leg warily.

 

“Next time, daddy’ll suck you off, all right?” Eliot says, not grudgingly, just a small smirk on his face as if it were something he was looking forward to. “We made a deal though, you lost. You either come like this or not at all.” He explains, Quentin glances over at Margo.

 

“Go on, baby.” She urges, smiling almost…. Proudly? “You earned it, like a good boy.” She adds, and Eliot quickly reaches out to squeeze the back of his neck.

 

“A very good boy.” He agrees, and Quentin’s dick is immediately back to aching for it again. He shifts on his knees, slipping one over to partially straddle Eliot’s slightly outstretched leg. Eliot pulls him closer, adjusting his leg to where it pushes against the crotch of Quentin’s jeans. The friction has him arching up and into the feeling, a low moan escaping him.

 

“Good boy,” Margo purrs once more, he thrusts again, slowly gaining confidence in the motion. He drops his cheek on Eliot’s knee, squeezing his eyes shut as he humps against his leg like a desperate dog. There’s a flush on his cheeks, humiliated and painfully turned on. Eliot’s fingers pet through his hair, he whimpers as he starts to approach orgasm, biting his lip.

 

“Come on, now. Let us hear you.” Eliot urges, Quentin’s mouth drops open obediently and he starts to gasp shallowly, each noise lilting off into a whine of a noise. Eliot pushes Quentin’s hair from his face, not letting him hide against his knee.

 

“I bet you make the prettiest face when you come,” Eliot’s leg shifts up hard and the other wraps around his back and pushes him down on the same motion. Quentin cries out, fingers grasping tightly against the couch cushions as he comes in his jeans like an inexperienced teenager.

 

He practically collapses back onto the floor, breathing heavily with his limbs weak from the intensity of his orgasm. He can hear Margo getting up, keeps his eyes closed tight and his head down as he tries to catch his breath. Eliot’s hands slip under his arms and he’s pulled up onto the man’s lap, straddling him. He leans forward as soon as Eliot pushes on his back, dropping his head on the man’s shoulder and making himself comfortable.

 

“You did so well,” Eliot praises softly, nipping and kissing at his bare shoulder where his shirt has slipped down.

 

“Here,” Margo says upon her return, Eliot starts to move Quentin, chuckling under his breath when the young man whines in complaint. “Clingy,” She comments, so Quentin lets go as he’s pushed onto his back on the couch. Eliot yanks off his jeans and underwear, he can’t even find the energy to feel exposed.

 

“Here, Q.” Quentin pries open his eyes and sits up, accepting the pair of sweatpants offered to him. “Might be big, you’re kinda tiny.” He says, and they are, but he doesn’t care. He has to squirm to yank the pants up over his waist, just to get his feet to show, which makes Eliot and Margo laugh. Margo gets him a glass of water, which he gratefully accepts.

 

“I should call my friend, I’m supposed to text her at eleven to tell her I’m okay and when I’m coming home.” He mumbles between sips, the water quenching his parched throat.

 

“You’re going home?” Eliot muses, Quentin immediately grows flustered again.

 

“I didn’t think you’d want me to stick around,” He says quietly, Eliot sighs and Margo rolls her eyes, sinking down between them.

 

“You don’t have to stay, but we have a large bed and a guest bedroom.” She explains, Quentin fidgets anxiously with his fingers

 

“Us vampires live night lives, we wake up at around five in the afternoon and don’t sleep until around nine the next morning.” Eliot informs him, sipping from his wine glass casually. “We have a lot to talk about, either now or tomorrow.” He says, turning his eyes to the partially open window where the dim city lights could be seen in the distance. A siren wails somewhere far off, Quentin swallows another mouthful of water.

 

“Now’s good,” He mutters.


	4. A Setback

He heads home the next morning, having stayed up until around three in the morning talking and getting to know Margo and Eliot. It was nice, they seemed a little less intimidating when they weren’t jumping his bones. They had lounged, drank, ate junk food and chatted. Quentin asked questions, from what exactly being with them entailed to simpler things like what their favorite TV shows were.

 

They got on well, Eliot and Margo shared a similar dry sarcastic humor that always made Quentin smile so big his cheeks hurt. Margo seemed to think Quentin was funny, and even Eliot was amused by his jokes. Eventually, Quentin started to nod off, so Eliot dragged him into the back room to get into bed. He remembered making a half-asleep comment that there were no coffins in the room, which made Margo laugh from the door and Eliot roll his eyes in a way that seemed almost fond.

 

He had fallen asleep fast, with a kiss to his forehead and covers tucked up under his chin. The bed smelled like Eliot, he thinks it might have been his considering he’d been informed that him and Margo didn’t always share a bed. It smelled a little like her, but mostly of Eliot’s crisp clean deodorant and fruity shampoo. He slept like a rock, not even a dream came to him that night, and when he woke in the morning it was still pitch black in the room.

 

He found Eliot asleep next to him, nose brushing his neck and arm slung over Quentin’s waist. He had woken Eliot up briefly, just to say goodbye, and they’d shared a small close-mouthed kiss. He had stumbled out of the room, found his underwear and jeans washed and folded on the kitchen counter, and located his shoes before slipping out of the loft.

 

He couldn’t help but smile at the memory of Eliot trying to cling to him, and when he gets back to Julia and James’s apartment he can’t wipe it away.

 

“Wow, the walk of shame looks more like the walk of achievement.” Julia comments, James snickers against the rim of his coffee mug. “I’m guessing it went well?” She asks, Quentin nods his head as he takes off his jacket.

 

“New hickeys.” James adds, Julia smirks and nudges his shoulder. “So, this was a guy and a girl?” He walks over to the table when Quentin sits down, joining him.

 

“Yeah, Eliot and Margo.” He can’t help but flush a little at saying their names.

 

“A bisexual’s fantasy,” Julia jokes, sitting down on his other side. “So what are they like?” She asks, he shrugs his shoulders and brushes his thumb over his opposite hand’s knuckles.

 

“They’re… Bossy and bitchy, sarcastic, beautiful.” He lists, growing redder as James grabs his shoulder and shakes him excitedly.

 

“Sounds like your type, Q.” Julia hums, leaning a hand out to rest it on his arm. “So is this a one-time thing or…?” She questions, he shakes his head.

 

“They want to see me again,” He admits, thinking about all the things they had discussed. “Next week.” He elaborates, James takes a long sip of his coffee.

 

“I was wrong,” The man says suddenly, earning Quentin and Julia’s confused attention. “Quentin Coldwater, you have game.” He snorts, Quentin shoves at his shoulder and Julia tips her head back to laugh.

 

They talk a little bit, he gives them some mundane details and then eventually escapes to shower. He thinks about them the entire ride back to school and starts to mull over the huge decision he needed to make by the next week. Eliot and Margo had given him an idea of what to expect, or more, what would be expected of him.

 

He looks at his phone as he drops down onto his mattress, having written everything down in his phone. They had discussed safe words, signals, and other things of that nature first. But there were other things at play, less sex-related and more vampire related. He had only made small worded phrases in his notes, but they bring the conversation back to him.

 

“We won’t start drinking from you until after you’ve been turned, it should give you the strength to be drained better than a regular human.” Eliot had told him over a bag of chocolate chip cookies, Quentin had been fascinated with it all. He had asked to see their fangs more than once, just to make sure he wasn’t crazy.

 

“The first few days won’t be too pleasant but trust me the full change is ten times worse.” Margo said not long after, and when Quentin had pried she continued on. “It’s taking something that changes what you’re made of, how your body works. It won’t be excruciating, but you might be a little sick.”

 

They had discussed Quentin going to school, where he would stay, when they would need them and what exactly he was allowed to do. It was almost thrilling, Margo and Eliot had money, a lot of old money, and they were basically telling Quentin that as long as he did as they said he could stay there with them. They warned of being possessive, that once he was theirs, that was it. They might sleep with other people, and might bring people home that Quentin might sleep with, but only with their permission.

 

Not to mention the talks of meeting other vampires, who also had halflings that they kept as pets of sorts. It shouldn’t be something Quentin is remotely considering, but he is, and the urge to do it is strong… The only reason he’s hesitating is because this would cut him off from everyone, Julia and James, his parents… It wouldn’t be like he’d never see them again, but there would come a time where he’d have to disappear. He would never age, and the world would pass them by and they would stay the same.

 

The thought is sad, but also somewhat intoxicating. Maybe he was just looking for coping mechanisms, but how could he pass this up? To belong to two people, to stop making stupid decision and taking control and just let someone else take over… Forever…

 

It would sound insane to anyone else but to him, it sounded like bliss.

 

He knew his decision on the walk home from the apartment, now it was only waiting for their next meeting.

 

-

 

The week of waiting is agony, but he finds that sometimes he wakes up in the morning to mindless texts to him from Eliot or Margo. They tell him they saw something on TV, or sent a picture of one of them blowing smoke rings. Once he gets a text from Margo that says she saw some piece of clothing online that she thought he’d look nice in.

 

A few times, he gets downright filthy remarks from both of them, which have him jerking off and wishing they were with him. It doesn’t matter what they message him, he’s not really sure how to reply. Is he supposed to respond a certain way, or not at all? He always types out a dozen replies and then just puts his phone down in defeat. By Wednesday, he’s not sure if this is going to work out, what if he’s not good enough?

 

He’s not feeling too great on Thursday, having pulled an all nighter the night before to study for an exam. He crawls into bed around six, and falls asleep, only waking up to the sound of his phone ringing. He clumsily reaches for it on his bedside table, turning over and answering it blearily.

 

“Mm what?” He mumbles, his mouth dry and his head aching in a gentle throb.

 

“Good evening, sweet boy, I just called to check in on you and make sure you aren’t dead!” Eliot says happily, Quentin smirks against his pillow and sighs.

 

“No, m’not, just tired.” He confesses, Eliot hums, there’s a voice somewhere nearby that sounds like Margo. “How are you?” He asks.

 

“Just fine, have you thought over our offer yet?” He questions in reply.

 

“Mm, yeah.” He says, settling the phone on his cheek and already starting to fall back asleep.

 

“Still need more time?”

 

“Mhm,” He closes his eyes, hears Eliot say something and frowns. “Wha?”

 

“Margo wants to know if we can move the decision up to tomorrow instead of Saturday,” There’s the sound of a scuffle, the two hissing at each other quietly and away from the phone.

 

“If we change you tomorrow, we can have the entire weekend to make sure there aren’t any problems.” Margo says abruptly, Quentin rolls over onto his back and blinks up at the ceiling.

 

“Problems?” He asks, Margo hums.

 

“Just a precaution, you haven’t called us and told us no yet so I’m assuming this is happening.” She tells him casually, Quentin yawns and rubs at his eye. He can’t find the words to reply, was this still happening? He sits up and turns on the lamp in his room, leaning back against his headboard. “Quentin?” Margo sounds mildly annoyed, he pulls in a deep breath and sighs it out, chewing the inside of his cheek.

 

“I’m scared of getting attached, and then you guys throwing me away.” He admits quietly, pushing his hair back. “What if you decide in ten years, twenty years, five hundred years… That you suddenly can’t stand me?” He asks, starting to grow hysterical. He can feel his throat trying to swell shut with panic, tears burning in his eyes. “Nobody likes me and I don’t even know if-“

 

“Quentin, shut up.” Margo snaps, Quentin closes his mouth and sniffles. “We saw you weeks before you met us.” She tells him, he frowns.

 

“W-What?” He mumbles, confused.

 

“You were at your friend’s house, Eliot saw you taking out the garbage.” She confesses, Eliot says something nearby and she hushes him. “He followed you around for a while, even got in a cab and followed you back to your apartment.” She tells him, not ashamed in the slightest.

 

He remembers that night, which really was more than a month ago… They had followed him all that time, been keeping tabs on him, and he never even knew it?!

 

“You were stalking me?!” He exclaims, suddenly there’s a scuffle for the phone.

 

“I called Margo and told her about you, she knew about this from the start!” He insists, almost angry. “I saw you and I couldn’t resist myself, I didn’t follow you every day, but I kept an eye on you for a while.” He explains, sighing heavily. “Margo joined in eventually, we called you our boy, our special boy.”

 

“You didn’t even know my name,” Quentin rasps, this was giving him emotional whiplash. He couldn’t figure out whether to be appalled, flattered, or completely freaked out.

 

“I know what I want, Quentin. I bond fast, time is an illusion, especially when you’re an immortal.” Eliot insists, Quentin rubs at his face with a shaking hand. His headache is building in intensity, he feels nauseous. What had they seen? How much did they know already that they had lied about? They acted like they knew nothing and listened to him talk about where he went to school and everything else about him, and he hadn’t seen it.

 

“I…” His breaths sound deafening, the only thing louder than them being the pulse of his racing heart and the dull roar in his ears that is slowly building. “F-Fuck…” He drops his phone, scrambles into the bathroom and turns on his shower. He doesn’t even take off his clothes, dives into the tub and curls up in a ball as cold water pours down on him. He buries his face in his arms, rocking back and forth while he tries to swallow back the panic crawling through him like a slithering snake.

 

It takes ten minutes for him to calm down, he can barely find the energy to reach and turn off the shower head. He lays in the tub for another five, then slowly pulls himself out and strips his soaking wet clothes off. He ends up back in bed, naked and exhausted, finding his phone where he left it.

 

He presses the phone to his ear, listening to see if they had hung up. He can hear them talking, arguing loudly, he squeezes his eyes shut and has the urge to hang up. He could cut off all contact, never talk to them again, forget about all of this. They were creepy vampires, stalkers, they only wanted to use him and manipulate him. And the scariest thing was that Quentin didn’t care.

 

“Hello?” There’s silence, and then another fight for the phone, the word ‘speakerphone’ is mentioned.

 

“We’re here,” Eliot says, sounding a little out of breath. “You disappeared, everything okay?”

 

“Not really,” He croaks, turning on his own speakerphone and settling the phone near his head on his pillow.

 

“What happened?” Eliot demands, Quentin sighs and pulls his blankets up over his shoulders. “We thought you passed out or something.”

 

“I didn’t,” Quentin says, vaguely, and when there’s an expectant silence, he bites the inside of his cheek. “I’m… really tired… Can we talk tomorrow?” He asks quietly, there’s more quiet, in which he knows Eliot and Margo are having one of their famous silent conversations.

 

“Yeah, sure.” Eliot replies, Quentin reaches for his phone.

 

“Quentin,” He freezes, finger over the red button to end the call. “We want you to trust us, that’s why I told you.” Margo tells him sincerely, Quentin frowns, blinking at his phone and watching the seconds tick by on the call.

 

“See you tomorrow night,” He hits the button, shoves his phone under his pillow, and sighs shakily.


	5. The Transformation

He has the choice not to leave his apartment, he has the choice not to take a cab to their loft. He has the option of not going inside, of not taking the elevator upstairs. But he does it anyway, and he doesn’t even call Julia for back up in the slightest. He knows what he wants, even if it's not the smartest choice. He walks up to the door and knocks, and the door opens, Margo standing before him with an un-Margo-like serious face on.

 

“Hi,” He says, quiet and unsure.

 

He had been worried they would be angry, he snubbed them pretty hard the night before. He had gotten at least one text a day since the Saturday before, but the entire day his phone had been silent other than a few things from Julia. Margo moves from the door, Quentin shuffles inside and spots Eliot standing near the window. He shifts on his feet, feeling like a scolded child without a word said.

 

“Have you decided?” Eliot asks, looking out at the city beyond the glass.

 

“The offer’s still on the table?” Quentin replies with his own question, Eliot looks back with mild confusion.

 

“If you want it,” He says quietly, Quentin glances over at Margo, then back to Eliot. “We thought you might have changed your mind after yesterday.”

 

“We could always figure it out later,” Margo adds, and Eliot nods slowly.

 

“I want to do it,” Quentin blurts, earning surprised looks from the other two. “On one condition.” He says, watching the two look to each other before back at him. “I want to know why you chose me.” He says quietly.

 

“You’re cute,” Margo offers up, Quentin shakes his head.

 

“No, that’s not it. Because if I was just a quick fuck, you wouldn’t make me your immortal plaything.” He points a finger between the both of them. “When did you decide to pick me?” He insists, the two are quiet, can’t even look him in the eye.

 

“It’s not that simple,” Eliot argues, Quentin clenches his jaw.

 

“Tell. Me.” He commands, it’s the most in charge he thinks he’s ever sounded in his life. But Eliot only looks mildly annoyed, maybe guilty, he sighs.

 

“You walked from your apartment across town, I followed you for an hour…” Eliot admits finally, after the silent stand off becomes too much to handle. “And you went into a building and climbed the fire escape, all the way to the top.” Quentin’s stomach starts to sink, his breath catching in his throat.

 

“So I’m a pity case?” He spits, Margo turns away to get a drink, Eliot crosses his arms.

 

“You stood on the edge of that fucking roof, and I could hear you degrading yourself, telling yourself to do it. You stood up there for thirteen minutes, I counted.” Eliot snaps, Quentin’s bottom lip quivers dangerously. He had no right, that was his private moment, he can feel tears welling up in his eyes. “I was about two minutes away from revealing myself, but you stepped down and you sat on the roof and…”

 

He remembers, it wasn’t the first time he’d done it, but the most recent time he definitely remembers. He had curled up on the roof and cried, called himself stupid and worthless and not even brave enough to end it. And Eliot had been there, that entire time, watching. He felt like the wound in his soul had been exposed, ripped open to bleed freely in front of these two without his permission.

 

“All I could think was that I had to have you. I knew if you were with us, you wouldn’t be doing that.” Eliot is growing angrier, approaching slowly, throwing his hands around passionately. “I knew you’d be ours, mine, and I wasn’t going to take no for an answer.” His eyes are dark, but his mouth is lacking any sort of angry sneer, he looks almost desperate.

 

“Okay,” Quentin nods, swallowing, Eliot blinks and leans back.

 

“Okay?” He echoes, Quentin nods his head again.

 

“I’m yours.” He says quietly, the words feel like letting go and hanging on tight at the same time. He looks to Margo, who had been decidedly silent, she seemed like the kind of person who didn’t let her emotions show. But her silence spoke volumes, usually she’d be making snooty remarks or rolling her eyes, but she was sitting on a chair staring at the wall behind them. “Is that okay, Margo?” He calls, earning her attention, she gives him a small smile.

 

“More than okay,”

 

-

 

They take a little while to prepare, mostly trying to get Quentin a little buzzed and a lot relaxed. He tries to regret his choice as he’s sat down on a ratty blanket on the carpet. Eliot and Margo get a bucket and a knife, he finds himself getting more and more nervous as they get down next to him.

 

“What’s the bucket for?” He murmurs, Margo leans over to kiss his cheek as Eliot smiles warmly.

 

“It’s in case you have to puke, sometimes the first dose doesn’t take.” The older man tells him, handing the knife over to Margo when she holds her hand out for it.

 

“I’ll go first, then you.” She says to the older man, Eliot pulls his legs out from underneath him to cross them, placing a gentle hand on Quentin’s back. Quentin watches her take the knife to her wrist, the motion putting him on edge, his hands come up in a panicked gesture. Eliot reaches over and pulls his hands back down into his lap.

 

“It’s okay, it’ll heal faster than you think.” He assures, pressing a kiss to his temple and rubbing his back. Margo digs the knife into her wrist, creating a deep divot before dropping the knife on the blanket and pressing her palm to the wound before the blood can spill.

 

“Don’t stop, okay? The more we get into you, the more likely it’ll take the first time.” She insists, Quentin nods his head with a grimace and leans in when she shuffles closer. He watches her move her hand, blood already starting to pool fast on her wrist, he wraps his lips over the wound.

 

It tastes bitter, not just like blood, almost like soap or cleaning solution. His body immediately demands that he stop, his gag reflex trying to react and his brain screaming to spit. Eliot’s hand takes a firm hold of the back of his neck, effectively pinning him in place in case he wants to pull away. He starts to swallow, and after a few mouthfuls it gets a little easier.

 

A few minutes in, he starts to feel cold, like his heart is pumping ice water. He squeezes his eyes shut and shifts uncomfortably, slowly numbing fingers lowering from Margo’s wrist. Eliot’s hand moves to rub at his back again once he's sure Quentin won't pull away, keeping up a string of praising murmurs as he drinks. There’s a moment where it feels like he’s starting to fall asleep, and with a jerk he pulls his mouth off and starts to cough. Eliot puts the bucket under him, but nothing comes out, his throat just feels dry.

 

“Your turn,” Margo’s voice sounds funny, almost like she was standing in a tunnel and he was on the other side.

 

“He’s practically limp, hold him.” He’s shifted from Eliot’s chest into Margo’s, her hair smells like apples. Quentin whines his complaint when he’s pulled upright and away from Margo, mouth pressed back onto a wrist that he realizes is Eliot’s. “Halfway there, baby.” Eliot’s voice sounds funny too, and he’s tired, but he’s leaning on Eliot a little and if he closes his eyes he can pretend that they’re in bed like that first night.

 

Quentin loses track of the time, can only feel the cold making him shiver and Margo’s fingers soothing through his hair. Eventually, the wrist is pulled back and he lazily licks his lips, swallowing the last of the bitter blood.

 

“Here, sweetheart.” Margo presses a glass to his lips, and for a moment he tries to pull away for fear of the taste of more blood. “It’s okay,” He takes a drink, finding it to be merely water, which he quickly takes a few swallows of to clear the taste from his mouth. He blinks tired eyes as he allows himself to come back from his strange daze.

 

“Feel sick?” Eliot’s voice still sounds strange, but more present than it did before. His vision is distorted, like he was looking through a dirty window pane or a warped mirror. He shakes his head slowly, grumbling tiredly when he’s gathered up in the young man’s arms and lifted up. He’s settled on the couch, a pillow slipped under his head. “There you go,”

 

“Cold,” He mumbles, and then Margo is draping the blanket that had been on the couch over him.

 

“Try to sleep, might be able to get through a good portion of it like that.” Eliot tells him, Quentin forces his heavy body over, so he can lay on his side facing the back of the couch. He shuts his eyes, pushing the numbness out of his mind and focusing on how tired he is. He slips off pretty easy, into a deep and dreamless sleep.


	6. The Punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( I'd like to point out to anyone reading, Margo and Eliot are kinda twisted and fucked up so this fic is going to get twisted and fucked up )

The next time Quentin wakes up, his head feels like it did when his medication was badly off last time he was in the hospital. He can barely lift his arms and opening his eyes send him into a panic because all he can see is the white ceiling and for a moment he thinks he’s back in that place. He’s confused, afraid, and overall distressed to the point where tears are already building in his eyes in response to the tightness in his chest.

 

“Shhh shh,” A hand touches his face, turning his head, he focuses bleary eyes on a familiar face.

 

“Margo,” He whimpers, lifting a clumsy hand to reach for her. She takes it and smiles down at him, leaning over to kiss his cheek and then his forehead. Her hands feel cold, and he shivers just a little.

 

“You’re okay, Eliot’s making the bed, so you can sleep between us tonight.” She promises, Quentin sniffs and nods his head, feeling calmer. He wasn’t in the hospital, he was in Eliot and Margo’s loft, that was nice.

 

“You’re so pretty,” He punctuates his words with a wistful sigh, she traces a finger along his hairline with a small smile.

 

“Thank you, you’re pretty too.” She offers, he can’t help but grin. It isn’t long before Eliot returns, lifting a half-conscious Quentin up and carrying him to the bed. He’s asleep before they even climb in to keep him company.

 

-

 

Quentin wakes up on Saturday feeling a little more level-headed, Margo and Eliot sleep while he mills about the loft. He knows he’s not allowed to leave, not right now absolutely, but also not at all unless he tells them. The sense of being controlled would scare anyone else, but to him it feel safe, it feels simple.

 

He busies himself for the day, tidying up and making himself something to eat. Eventually, he starts feeling sick again and retires to the couch. Quentin watches TV lazily for quite a few hours after that, and even falls asleep. He only wakes up to someone calling his name, a cold hand on his cheek.

 

“Quentin,” He doesn’t want to wake up, he definitely wants to sleep.

 

“Wake up, honey.” He pries his eyes open, dragging himself into consciousness.

 

“Mm, hey.” He sighs at the sight of Eliot crouched in front of the couch, and looking up reveals Margo leaning over the back. “Morning,” He jokes, yawning and reaching up to rub at his face.

 

He doesn’t feel too great, a little cold and a bit of nausea turning in his stomach. Margo soothes a hand over his cheek and clicks her tongue, he turns his head away from her cold skin. Eliot reaches to feel at his neck, where his pulse is, Quentin tips his head back and closes his eyes.

 

“We just came to check on you, you’re running a fever.” Eliot says quietly, his voice thoughtful. “Which is completely normal, but Margo tends to worry, so.” Eliot tells him, Margo hisses and reaches over Quentin to swipe at the older man.

 

“You’re the worrier here,” She insists, Eliot smirks.

 

“I’m okay, just tired.” He mumbles, he rolls over onto his side facing Eliot, pillowing his head on his arm. Eliot combs his fingers through Quentin’s hair, dropping down into a sitting position and resting his chin on the cushion.

 

“You didn’t go out, right?” He questions, Quentin shakes his head as Margo slips over the back of the couch and fitting herself behind him to wrap an arm over his chest and pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

 

“You said I couldn’t,” He replies easily, Eliot grins over at Margo, who gives a pleased hum.

 

“Good boy,” She praises, he closes his eyes in a mix of embarrassment and pride.

 

“Keep an eye on him, huh? I’m gonna go make us some dinner.” Eliot smooths a thumb over Quentin’s cheek and then gets up to head into the kitchen. Margo keeps herself close, humming softly as she drags her fingernails over his chest and causes pleasant shivers to run up his spine.

 

They eat dinner, and then they retire to the living room where Eliot sprawls out with his head in Margo’s lap and Quentin sprawled over his chest. Eventually, the younger starts to get colder and Eliot expresses his concern over Quentin’s temperature having risen again. He slips away to start a bath, and Quentin makes himself comfortable with his head on Margo’s lap.

 

“I thought I was supposed to be taking care of you.” Quentin murmurs as Margo runs a cool rag over his face.

 

“Well, when you’re healthy, yeah.” She rolls her eyes, smacks him in the chest with the cloth. “But you’d die off really quick if we pushed you to do things while you’re sick.” She snorts.

 

“Can I still die?” He questions, eyes heavy and sweat making his shirt cling to his skin.

 

“It’ll be unlikely you get any terminal illnesses, but if you get hit by a car, yeah.” She admits, Quentin snorts quietly.

 

“Damn, guess I gotta quit jaywalking then.” He smirks, she smiles and caresses the underside of his jaw. “I get why Eliot wanted me, but why you?” He asks softly, reaching up to wrap his fingers around her wrist. “Why get such a pathetic little sad sack?”

 

“Eliot and I have a thing for high strung super nerds.” She confesses, then pinches his cheek gently. “I thought you could use some purpose, you seemed… lost.” She says thoughtfully, Quentin ponders this a moment and finds that he agrees with her in a way. “The fact that you give good oral and are very sweet is a bonus, too.” She jokes, he snickers softly.

 

“Bath time, you stink.” Eliot appears at the back of the couch, Quentin sits up and runs a hand through his hair before standing.

 

Surprisingly, Eliot follows him into the bathroom, Quentin finds himself unsure as to what to do besides observe the rather large bath tub filled with water and smelling salts that had a scent of lavender. Eliot pulls himself up onto the counter, using his foot to shut the door, Quentin frowns at him.

 

“Need something?” He asks the older, who simply smirks.

 

“Keeping an eye on you,” He says, almost smugly. “Plus, why would I miss a chance to watch you get naked and wet?”

 

“Are we gonna do stuff tonight, because I’m sick to my stomach and I don’t think I can suck your dick without throwing up.” He mumbles, Eliot slips off the counter and crowds into Quentin’s space.

 

“You are not fit for dick sucking tonight,” The older says with a small smile. “Take your bath, huh?” He kisses Quentin’s cheek, then pauses to feel his forehead. “Please don’t make us bathe you in ice,” He says in a deadpan, Quentin snorts and starts to pull off his shirt.

 

“I’ll try to control my body,” He jokes, stripping off his jeans.

 

-

 

After Quentin’s body has returned to normal, he feels pretty good. There’s no major change, but he almost feels energized, refreshed in some way. When he says goodbye to Margo and Eliot, he promises to stay over the next weekend. He heads home and goes to class on Monday and starts to count down the hours until he can be with them again.

 

He doesn’t get as many texts from Margo and Eliot over the next few days, just two from Margo on Saturday and Sunday, and one from Eliot on Monday. He tries not to be too disappointed by Tuesday night when no new text comes in, he decides to just drown himself in school work until he forgets about it. He doesn’t sleep well that night, so the next day he ends up finishing his work early and heading to bed shortly after.

 

Quentin wakes up to a strange feeling, laying on his side and slowly rousing for some reason he can’t quite explain. He slowly turns over, letting out a terrified shout when he spots a dark figure standing in his door. He tries to scurry back when they step inside, only to collapse onto the floor on the other side of the bed. The light flips on, blinding him momentarily, he squints and averts his eyes.

 

“Get up, Quentin.” He blinks at the voice, finding Eliot standing just inside the room with his arms crossed and a neutral expression on his face.

 

“E-Eliot?” He slowly pulls himself off the floor, Margo steps inside lazily.

 

“Oh so he’s not dead,” She mutters, seeming almost… angry?

 

“Why are you guys here, it’s…” He glances to the clock, finding it to be only midnight. When he turns his head back, Eliot takes two long strides and grabs a fistful of his shirt to tug them nose to nose.

 

“Where’s your phone, Quentin?” He keeps his voice soft and calm, but there’s an edge to it.

 

“I-It’s in my bag?” He shakes his head slowly, whimpering when the older man relaxes his grip in his shirt only to wrap his fingers around his neck.

 

“Did you hear it ringing or is it on silent?” He questions, Quentin can see Margo opening his satchel and dumping it out on the bed.

 

“I didn’t… I put… put it on silent when I’m in class… I must have forgotten to take it out…” He hurries to explain as Margo holds up the phone.

 

“Silent,” She agrees with a wave of the phone.

 

“You made us worry, now sit.” Eliot points to the mattress, Quentin quickly sinks onto the edge and stares at the older man’s feet. “Look at me, Quentin.” He snaps, Quentin slowly raises his gaze to meet the man’s eyes.

 

“I’m sorry,” His voice shakes, he can feel his hands trembling as he clasps them together so tight that his skin starts to turn white.

 

“You made a mistake, and that’s okay.” Eliot grabs his chin when he tries to look away, crouching down so he’s not towering over him. “But you’ll have to be punished, all right?” It’s less of a question and more of an urging of agreement, he nods his head.

 

“Use your words, Quentin.” Margo says, Quentin sighs out shakily.

 

“Okay,” He agrees softly, listening to the two start to converse quietly about what he deserves as a punishment. He starts to think about how it’s only been a few days since his official turning that he was already fucking everything up.

 

“All right, Quentin.” Eliot says finally, Quentin turns his head as Margo sinks down on the bed. “As punishment, you’re going to lay yourself over Margo’s lap and she’s going to spank you.” Eliot tells him quietly, the younger frowns.

 

“Margo?” He murmurs, Eliot nods his head.

 

“She’s got strong wrists and smaller hands, we don’t want you sitting without thinking about your mistake tomorrow.” He says casually, and something like that would probably turn him on if he wasn’t currently filled with the feeling of failure and self-hatred.

 

“Now,” Margo sits back on the mattress and pats her thigh, Quentin hesitates only briefly before drawing himself over her lap. He rests his stomach against her thighs, hiding his face in his arms as his chest tightens.

 

Margo pushes his shirt up and takes hold of the waistband of his sweatpants to pull them and his underwear down underneath his ass. Eliot takes a seat at Quentin’s desk, and the following silence starts to make him more nervous, the first hit is almost like relief. Tears burn in his eyes as she spanks him, and he feels like a pathetic little baby for letting it get to him, but he does.

 

There’s a stinging that burns through him as she continues on past uncomfortable, edging into pain as time stretches on. He remains still throughout, can’t even find the will to squirm because he’s too busy trying to remember how to breathe as he attempts to keep himself from crying. It ends and Quentin almost has the urge to demand she keep going, but then hands are under his arms and lifting him off of Margo’s lap.

 

He’s sat in Eliot’s lap, his pants adjusted back on. He immediately notes that his bottom is very sore, and as Eliot wipes at his face he realizes he’s got tears on his cheeks.

 

“I’m sorry,” He rasps, Eliot clicks his tongue quietly and presses a kiss to his cheek.

 

“You’re forgiven, but if you make us come out here again looking for you like that…” He shakes his head, Margo reaches out and takes his chin gently.

 

“We’re being very generous allowing you to live out here, you know that, right?” She asks, he nods his head obediently. “We could drag that cute little face back to our loft and lock you up easy.” She sighs, then presses a kiss to his lips. “God knows I wouldn’t mind.”

 

“Thank you,” Quentin mumbles, relaxing into Eliot’s chest when his arms come up to wrap around him. He presses a grateful kiss to Eliot’s cheek, humming from his throat when the man turns his head to press their lips together.

 

“So this is where you live, huh?” Margo is moving around the room, looking around with mild distaste. “Have any friends at school?” She questions, he shrugs his shoulders.

 

“People I talk to about grades, trade numbers in case I miss class or whatever.” He admits, Eliot turns him to face outwards before scooting further back on the mattress and slipping Quentin between his legs. The fabric of his pants rubs uncomfortably on his tender skin, but he ignores it to focus on the way Eliot rests his chin on the top of his head.

 

“No girlfriend or anything like that, right?” Margo smirks, Quentin can’t help but smile shakily himself, shaking his head.

 

“Not unless you count yourself,” He says boldly, his chest seizing up with panic when Margo pauses near the door. “I-If that’s… okay.” He mutters weakly, feeling only a little better when Eliot pets his chest soothingly.

 

“You can call me whatever you want, honey.” Margo turns to look at him, a vicious grin on her lips. “As long as you know that you’re ours.” She brushes her fingers along his cheek as she passes, he feels intoxicated.

 

“Always,” He agrees easily, earning a pleased hum from Eliot and a kiss to the neck.


	7. Their Good Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( Another kinky chapter, and a long one at that. Might be a while before the next update! )

A few weeks later, on a trip to Julia’s house for the afternoon before he goes to meet up with his immortal lovers, he admits to his friend that they’re dating. He’s nervous about it, not exactly sure how she’ll take never having met these two before. He usually always let her meet people before he got serious about them, and he’d only been serious a few times with girls in high school and a short stint with a guy in college.

 

“No shit, you’re together?” Julia seems amused as she stirs dinner in the frying pan, pulling it off of the stove and resting it away from the open flame. “So like all three of you are together in that…. Polyamory thing or whatever?” She asks, Quentin clasps his fingers together on the table, shaking his head.

 

“I’m with Eliot and Margo, they’re not really together.” He explains carefully, Julia quirks an eyebrow at him.

 

“They live together but they’re not together?” She looks suspicious, and before Quentin can deny it, she speaks again. “Please don’t tell me they’re related, because that’s just weird…” She comes up to the table, Quentin smirks and shakes his head.

 

“They’re just good friends, they have a thing for fucking the same guy I guess.” He shrugs bashfully, the woman’s lips curl up into a slow grin.

 

“So you just go over there and do stuff with both of them but they never do anything to each other?” She questions, he shrugs again and scratches at his cheek.

 

“I mean, when we’re in bed afterwards they cuddle. They’re just not that into each other, I thought Eliot was gay but I think he’s just not very into Margo, and vice versa.” He tells her quietly, Julia chuckles quietly and reaches over to take his hands.

 

“This sounds iffy, so please do not get hurt…” She pleads with him, he nods his head. “And I want to meet them, do you have any pictures of them?” She asks, Quentin can feel a blush rising on his cheeks.

 

“None that are PG,” He says quietly, Julia bursts into raucous laughter, holding her side as she leans over the counter. Quentin can’t help but nervously join in, it lessens his tension. At least Julia wasn’t mad, but he was nervous to hear what Eliot and Margo might think of meeting Julia and James.

 

-

 

He has dinner/breakfast with Margo and Eliot that evening, pancakes courtesy of Quentin and perfectly made eggs provided by Eliot. Margo had sauntered in a few minutes after everything was finished, still in her pajamas but looking a little more awake than she had when Eliot had told Quentin to go wake her up. He hadn’t strayed past the doorway at first, fearful of upsetting her, but she’d only told him she’d be up in five minutes and asked for pancakes.

 

“These are good, Q.” Margo says between bites, taking a sip of juice and then leaning over to ruffle his hair teasingly.

 

“Eliot told me you like chocolate chip, I like them too.” He offers, Margo makes an appreciative noise and squeezes his arm, they go back to eating in silence for a moment. Quentin starts to think about asking them, slowing in his eating as he ponders what they might say.

 

“Q, darling, something the matter?” Eliot smiles at him, Quentin shakes his head and takes another bite. “Come now, you know better than to lie, don’t you?” His tone holds promise of punishment if he’s not honest, Quentin slowly nods his head.

 

“My friends want to meet you,” He says with a tiny shrug, staring down at his plate and pushing the rest of his scrambled eggs around.

 

“The girl, right?” Margo asks, Quentin nods his head.

 

“Julia, and her boyfriend James.” He replies, Margo takes another bite of her pancakes and squints her eyes a little as she thinks.

 

“You want to show us off to your little friends, huh?” Eliot says with amusement, Margo giggles quietly as Quentin ducks his head to hide his blush.

 

“Well all right, but we’ll have to do it in the evening.” She reminds him, he nods his head.

 

“Julia said she’s off on Sunday, would that be good for you guys?” He asks shyly, smiling a little when Eliot reaches over to twine their fingers together.

 

“I think we can manage, right Bambi?” He turns to Margo, Quentin’s eyes follow, the woman is finishing off her final pancake.

 

“Well I for one, want to see these so-called friends. Eliot thought you were dating the girl for a while.” She explains, Quentin quickly shakes his head.

 

“No, never… She doesn’t like me that way.” He admits, there’s silence for a moment and he squirms as Eliot stands up to put his plate away, taking Margo’s as well.

 

“Poor little Q, had a puppy crush on her?” Margo asks, Quentin shrugs and then nods his head again, remembering to be honest. “That’s cute, but just remember if I catch you making eyes at her we’ll probably have to castrate you.” Her words have his eyes widening, Eliot puts a hand over his mouth to smother his laughter as Margo snickers at his facial expression.

 

“She’s kidding, Quentin.” Eliot passes by him, not forgetting to press a kiss to his head.

 

“Maybe, we’ll see. I get possessive.” Margo says quietly, slowly standing up. Her nails caress Quentin’s cheek and then down his back as she passes, he lets out a shudder of a sigh. He takes another bite of his pancakes, looking up when Eliot leans out of Margo’s bedroom door.

 

“Get a move on before we start without you,” He urges, Quentin pushes his plate away and Eliot makes a disapproving noise. “Did you finish?” He asks, Quentin freezes in his steps over.

 

“Mostly,” He replies hesitantly, Eliot rolls his eyes.

 

“All right, fine. Come on, Margo’s going to start without us, and we all know how bitter she gets when she doesn’t have a pretty boy’s face between her legs.” He teases, holding out his hand, Quentin takes it and allows himself to get yanked into the bedroom.

 

“Clothes off, Quentin. The only people allowed to be clothed in here are me and Eliot.” Margo chides playfully, Quentin quickly kicks off his shoes as he tries to remove his shirt. He gets a little stuck in the sweater over it and stumbles before Margo laughs and Eliot is helping him.

 

“He’s helpless,” Eliot says in fond exasperation as he pulls the clothes off of Quentin’s head and arms, the younger quickly gets to work on his pants.

 

“I know, it’s kind of a turn on.” Margo says with a glint in her eye as she watches Quentin struggle out of his tight jeans.

 

When he lands on the bed, Margo is quick to grab him and throw him onto his back against the mattress. He can’t help the wicked smile on his face as she leans over him, Eliot joining them in only his underwear a moment later. He should probably feel embarrassed, having such a beautiful girl still in her underwear and t-shirt and a handsome man still in his boxers while he is laid out before them naked as the day he was born. But he’s not, he’s just extremely horny and eager to do whatever they want.

 

“Bambi had such an amazing idea for tonight,” Eliot says quietly, his eyes dark with lust and excitement. “Tell him, I like when he’s riled up.” He says with a small smirk, Margo hums as she drags her nails over his chest and collar bones.

 

“Tonight, you get the absolute privilege of fucking me while Eliot plows your pretty little ass.” His excitement must show on his face, because the both of them laugh in response to it. “Well, got anything to say?” She asks playfully, Quentin’s mouth hangs open as he breathes out.

 

“I think you’ve rendered him speechless, speechless and very excited.” Eliot punctuates his last two words by grabbing Quentin’s already hard dick and giving it a teasing stroke. His hips jerk into the feeling, a stuttering exhale escaping him.

 

“Don’t touch that, it’s mine tonight.” Margo swats at Eliot’s hand, who makes a cat noise at her, the woman sticks her tongue out at him in reply. “Come on then,” Margo maneuvers Quentin up, dropping onto her back and then pulling him over her. His dick brushes against her stomach as he places his hands on either side of her shoulders, listening to Eliot move around the room behind them.

 

“So do you guys plan this before I come over or do you just have really good ideas sometimes?” Quentin asks, biting his bottom lip as Margo reaches up her arms to pull him down into a kiss.

 

“I always have good ideas,” Margo tells them when they break apart, she tastes like chocolate and mint, most likely having popped one before he’d gotten into the room.

 

“Now I know you’ve promised you’re not a virgin, and you really did enjoy last week when Margo went digital underground on you… But have you ever taken a dick before?” Eliot is suddenly leaning over him, nipping at his shoulder.

 

“Yeah, been a while, but yeah.” Quentin smirks as he turns his head to look back at Eliot, who tosses something underneath Quentin’s legs that lands on Margo’s stomach. He shifts and looks down, watching Margo pick up what he realizes is a condom.

 

“Bigger than mine?” Eliot asks, jealousy lacing his voice. Margo grins up at Quentin as if she were thinking the same thing.

 

“Maybe,” Quentin can’t help himself, Margo makes a teasing cajole of a noise and then Eliot is smacking him in the ass.

 

“Cute,” He mutters, reaching around Quentin’s chest and pulling him back onto his knees. “How about after we’re done, we bruise up that pretty little neck and drink from you?” He bites Quentin’s neck gently, he shudders as he remembers the entire point for him to be here in the first place.

 

“Mama likey…” Margo adds, watching them languidly.

 

“S’it gonna hurt?” Quentin asks, Eliot pushes him back down onto his hands and knees.

 

“Maybe a little,” Margo allows with a small smirk, reaching down to put the condom on Quentin. “Good hurt, for our good boy.” The words have him letting out a pleasured sigh, eager and excited.

 

“All right, let’s get started.” A slicked up finger slides over Quentin’s hole, eliciting a gasp from the younger as he drops down to his elbows and buries his face in the junction of Margo’s neck and shoulder. Her arms wrap around his neck, one hand soothing along one of his shoulder blades as Eliot pushes his finger in.

 

“Someone’s tight,” Eliot says casually, Quentin can feel his entire body growing warm with embarrassment. Margo’s fingers trail up into his hair and pull his head out of its hiding spot.

 

“Let’s fix that,” She presses their mouths together, Quentin fists his hands in the sheets on either side of her head and moans into her mouth. He can feel Eliot running his hand over his hip, still working his finger in, but it’s more background static now.

 

One of Margo’s hands reach down to touch herself, the other runs over his chest, nails dragging over his nipples teasingly. A needy whimper escapes him when Eliot sticks another finger into him, and he wants to tell him to hurry up, but he knows he’s in no position to do that. He rocks his hips back into Eliot’s hand instead, his lips pull from Margo’s with the movement.

 

“That’s better, we like our playthings nice and eager, right Bambi?” Eliot’s fingers shift in him, crook up just a bit, Quentin shudders with the feeling of his prostate being brushed. God, Eliot was good at being a tease, a breathy moan is pulled from his lips.

 

“C’mere, puppy.” Margo takes one of his hands and gently pulls it down with her own, his fingers find their place on her clit. It’s a difficult angle, a strain on his shoulder really to have to support his whole upper half on one arm. But he drops his head against her chest to do it and she doesn’t seem to mind, fingers tugging at his hair.

 

Eliot finishes working him open with three fingers, making Quentin squirm and stutter in his precise movements every time he presses near that one spot that makes his stomach quiver with desire and his dick throb. Finally, Eliot seems to think he’s had enough, because his fingers pull out and away.

 

“All aboard, let’s break in our new toy.” Eliot’s hand squeezes his shoulder, Quentin shudders at the words as Margo pushes his hand away. She grabs his hips, pulling at him until their stomachs are brushing and he’s on his elbows again.

 

“I bet you feel good, hm?” Margo teases into his ear, taking him by the dick and shifting her hips slightly to press him to her entrance. She’s wet, and Quentin takes pleasure in knowing he helped do that with just his fingers. He lifts his head to look at her, his hair in his face, it blocks his vision a little but he doesn’t care. “Aw, Eliot, he knows how to heel.” Margo croons, giving his bangs a gentle tug as she waits with Quentin’s tip pressed gently to her folds.

 

“Good boy, daddy’s almost ready.” Eliot shifts closer to him, Quentin can feel himself blushing just a little at the nickname Eliot seemed to like to call himself. He wondered what he would think about Quentin calling him that. “All right,” His dick presses to Quentin’s hole, giving only momentary pause before pushing in.

 

Quentin breathes in sharply, biting his bottom lip and letting the burning feeling wash over him. He can’t breathe for a second, and then Eliot is squeezing his hip, as if reminding him to. He lets out an unsteady exhale, Margo is touching the base of his cock with gentle and fleeting fingers.

 

“All right, give him a little push, El.” Margo says impatiently, when Eliot is about halfway in. The man pulls out a fraction, then thrusts forward, sending Quentin’s dick just past Margo’s entrance. “C’mon, get a move on, I’m sure you know how to use it by now.” She mocks, Quentin nods as he gasps unsteadily, pushing his hips down against hers to press all the way in. Margo lets out a quiet moan, which sounds almost like a growl.

 

Eliot follows him, his own cock sliding the rest of the way into the younger. Quentin squeezes his eyes shut at the feeling, the heat of Margo’s cunt and the fullness of Eliot’s cock giving him goosebumps. Eliot starts up a rhythm of strokes, each one sending Quentin forward into Margo. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to move himself, but his head was rushing, and his nerve endings were on fire, so he just stayed stationary. He felt like a toy in that moment, being used for pleasure, his stomach tensing with a spasm of arousal.

 

“You are never going to get anywhere like this,” Margo says suddenly, Quentin whimpers in response, it was supposed to sound like a question, but it sounded more like a mindless noise of helpless desire. “Eliot can’t do all the work, you’re supposed to make this easy for us.” She tugs at his hip, digs her nails in just a little.

 

Quentin starts to move then, pushing back against Eliot’s firm strokes and forward into Margo. Sometimes they line up, Eliot presses hard and it has lights flashing beneath Quentin’s eyelids. The only sound is their heavy breathing for a minute or two, sweat drips down Quentin’s back and makes his hair stick to his neck. Margo pulls him up to kiss him, the both of them moaning quietly. Eliot drives his hips forward rougher and Quentin almost loses his balance.

 

He can feel his orgasm steady building, but he doesn’t know the exact protocol for this situation. He decides it might be better for Margo to finish first, or Eliot, either before him. He was a little useless after an orgasm, so it would be better to do it now. He lifts up one arm and reaches down, going back to massaging Margo’s clit, earning a pleased hum in response. For a moment, Quentin thinks about going to the gym from the way his arm burns at the strain again.

 

“Use your thumb,” Eliot leans forward to whisper into his ear, so he does, smiling breathlessly as Margo arches into his next stroke and moans. Eliot rewards him with another hard thrust, Quentin stops for only a moment to switch hands.

 

“I’m gonna…” Margo warns, he smirks just a little, pressing and rubbing steadily as he fucks her in time with his pace. The woman tightens around him as she comes, inhaling sharply and her hips tilting into the feeling. Quentin has to still himself, so he doesn’t come, Eliot seems to decide he doesn’t care because he just keeps on.

 

“El,” Quentin whimpers, Margo pulls herself out from under Quentin to slide up the bed. Eliot puts a firm hand on his back and the younger drops his chest and face against the mattress.

 

“Now that’s a position,” Eliot says, sounding smug as he picks up his pace. His prostate is sensitive at this point, sending sparks of pleasure through him with almost every thrust.

 

“Ass up, he does look pretty.” Margo says with a quiet laugh, still sounding mildly out of breath. “I think we’re going to have to break him of this quiet thing, listen to him.” Quentin knows he’s probably bright red by now, face hidden mostly by his hair and the other side pressed to the bed, but he can’t stop the noises escaping him now.

 

“He sounds perfect, doesn’t he?” They hadn’t really talked directly to him in a bit, and it gets to something in his head that makes everything ten times stronger. Every thrust, every feeling, his body is acutely aware of everything. “Told you he was made for it,” Eliot gropes a handful of his ass and Quentin lets out a moan that’s louder than he’d ever admit it was.

 

“You called it, the second you spotted him. A pretty little toy for us to break and train, all for us.” Margo must have leaned forward or moved, her hand rubs at his shoulder and the other takes a handful of his hair just to pull on it firmly. “Quentin,” She murmurs in his ear.

 

“I doubt he’ll hear you, he’s too busy getting wrecked.” Eliot sounds quite proud of this, and he’s not exactly wrong, it’s hard to hear over his rushing blood and the rough smack of the man’s hips against his ass. Margo’s hand moves down to remove his condom, then returns to wrap around his dick.

 

“I’m talking, you listening?” She tugs harder on Quentin’s hair, he lets out a guttural noise that has her breathing a gentle laugh into his ear. “Next time, it’s going to be me giving it to you.” Quentin tenses up at the words, a gasping cough escaping him that ends with his stomach twisting and a final shudder escaping him as he comes.

 

“Not bad,” Eliot keeps up his thrusting, leaning forward against Quentin a little harder as he works towards his own completion. “Just a minute, sweetheart.” His nerves are already starting to become oversensitive, but he sits pliantly, ass still in the air and the rest of his body limp as Eliot uses him to get to where he needs to be.

 

He grips at the sheets as the man finishes off, his breathing speeding up, hitching slightly just before he lets out a noise that could barely be classified as a moan. He pulled out, making Quentin grimace just a little, and with a push to his hip, Quentin collapses onto his side on the mattress. Everything is quiet and loud at the same time, his breaths echoing in the room along with Margo shifting on the sheets and Eliot moving about and cleaning up.

 

He wonders if he was good enough, if they were angry with him… He curls up slightly, feeling exposed and on the edge of being anxious. Quentin actually startles when Margo touches him, glancing back with wide eyes and meeting Margo’s own confused expression.

 

“Come here,” She pulls at his arm, and Quentin blinks at her, his post-coital lethargy starting to kick in and his mental processes having slowed significantly. He’s caught off guard by Eliot’s approach to the mattress, taking hold of Quentin under his arms and sliding him up the bed near Margo.

 

“There you go,” He has a small smile on his face, one that Quentin recognizes from the last few times they’ve messed around. That little satisfied smirk, less smug and more content. Quentin watches the man get in on the other side of the bed, placing a towel on the small wet spot from where Quentin’s come had dripped on Margo’s wrist and some had dribbled onto the sheets.

 

“Why are you sitting there like that?” Margo says suddenly, sounding irritated but with an edge of a whine in her voice. Quentin looks to her in confusion, she pulls on him until he scoots closer. Her arms wrap around his shoulders and she slides into his lap, her hands dragging over his shoulder and down his back to trace little patterns in his skin.

 

Quentin smiles softly at the contact, hesitantly resting his head on her shoulder as Eliot lights up a cigarette. He watches Eliot tiredly, the man staring into nothing as smoke curls from his lips. Eventually, he spots Quentin watching him and grins, shifting closer to take Quentin’s hand and press their lips together.

 

“You did good, Q. Our good boy.” He says, and it almost sounds like a promise. Eliot lifts his hand and presses a kiss to it, sending shivers up Quentin’s spine from a mix of Margo’s delicate touches and the words themselves.

 

“Thank you,” He mumbles, leaning back against the headboard and allowing Margo to follow him. Eliot gets a bit closer after he’s finished his cigarette and put it out, wrapping an arm around him and reaching up to play with Quentin’s sweat damp hair.

 

It felt peaceful, not just quiet, calm. Quentin takes in a deep breath and sighs, content washing over him.


	8. Public Display

He turns his face into Margo’s neck and kisses her there, which seems to bring her to life. She moves her head, leaning down to kiss at his throat and down to his shoulder. He remembers the earlier plan and takes in a nervous breath, looking to Eliot.

 

“We don’t have to,” He says, earning a quiet grumble from Margo.

 

“I want to,” Quentin says immediately, laughing nervously at Eliot’s expression. “I’m… a good boy.” He says softly, watching the man soften at the words and reach up to ruffle his hair.

 

“Our good boy,” He says, Margo squeezes his shoulder and drags her teeth along his collar bone. “Go ahead, Bambi.” He allows, Quentin takes in a sharp inhale as she bites down hard. He winces at the break of skin, the soft sting of pain that lingers as Margo wraps her lips over the wound.

 

At first it feels like almost nothing, and Quentin is almost disappointed. But then his heart starts to pump a little faster, and he can feel his adrenaline starting to pick up again. He drops his head back against the headboard and if he closes his eyes, it almost feels like he’s floating. Eliot’s hand squeezes his, playing gently with his fingers as Margo drinks.

 

It only takes a minute or so before she pulls back, there’s a stain on the corner of her mouth and her teeth are glistened in a similar red color. Her fangs are surprisingly gone, must have only been used for the puncture itself. The young woman’s eyes are darker though, almost black.

 

“Your turn, El.” She slides off him, Quentin is a little limp as Eliot slides down the bed and grabs onto his ankle, yanking him down onto his back.

 

“Hi pretty boy,” He smiles at Quentin, who can’t help but smile lazily back. He feels high, drunk, flying, he could definitely get used to this. “We are going to mark our boy up, huh, Bambi?” He asks, barely glancing away from Quentin as he slides a hand under the younger man’s neck.

 

“That’s the plan,” She wipes the blood from her mouth when Quentin looks up at her, and Eliot bites down hard into the juncture between his neck and shoulder. Quentin drags his nails down Eliot’s back, breathing raggedly and squeezing his eyes shut.

 

The second time around is more intense, it feels like dozing and soaring at the same time, the place between awake and asleep. His fingers feel tingly, eyes trying to roll up into his head, having his blood taken shouldn’t feel this strangely good weird way that it does.

 

“It’s because you’re a halfling, you know.” Margo says, as if reading his thoughts, Quentin squirms helplessly under Eliot’s firm hold. He could do anything he wanted, and it should be scary, baring himself like this to them, but it only makes his dick twitch.

 

“W-What?” Quentin’s voice trembles, the noise elicits a noise that sounds a lot like a growl from Eliot. The older man grabs his wrists and pins them to the bed to still him, giving the open wound on his neck a quick nip.

 

“Any regular old human would be feeling sick by the time I was done, you’d be halfway dead at this point.” She leans over to grab a bottle of water off her nightstand, taking a sip from it. “Halflings are changed for this purpose, your body regenerates faster. So drinking from you is almost like a relief, isn’t it?” She still has that dangerous glint in her eye, but she seems sated and calm, amusement quirking her lips.

 

“Y-Yeah…” He mumbles, feeling his dick twitch as Eliot licks over his bite then goes back to sucking.

 

“Vampires have anticoagulants in their saliva,” Margo tells him lazily, Quentin squirms in Eliot’s hold, the man presses down with his body to pin him tighter. He felt like an animal, prey, it was definitely threatening to get him hard again.

 

“Y-You didn’t drink much.” Quentin mutters, Eliot finally releases him.

 

“I had a snack yesterday, Eliot’s been fasting until he could get his hands on you.” Margo explains, Quentin looks up as Eliot sits back. There’s blood smeared on his mouth, his hair an unruly mess, but his fingers are still tightly locked around Quentin’s wrists.

 

“Tell him the best part,” Eliot says, voice raspy and deep.

 

“You won’t just like being drained, you’ll beg us for it.” Quentin can barely take his eyes off Eliot to crane his head to look at Margo. “It’s practically an addiction for a halfling.” A shiver runs through Quentin’s body, he smiles and lets out a quiet shudder.

 

“I don’t think I can get hard for another ten minutes or so,” He confesses, Eliot chuckles and accepts a wet wipe from Margo.

 

“We have all night, baby.” Margo nudges his cheek with her foot, Quentin gives a lopsided grin.

 

-

 

They head to the bowling alley that evening, Margo turning up her nose at the concept of getting rented shoes and Eliot snorting as he produces his own pair. They head down, treading over the rug that looked like it had been made and installed in the ‘90s from both the design and the ratty state of it.

 

Quentin wasn’t a huge fan of bowling, he wasn’t very good at it, and he had a traumatic experience in middle school that had kept him away. How a twelve-year-old could manage to pull two fingers out of their sockets, bust his lip open, and break his nose in one bowl was beyond him. The kids called him Clutzwater for the rest of middle school, which he supposed was better than Queerwater, his nickname in high school.

 

However, Julia enjoyed bowling, as did James. And Quentin was never one to object to pretty much anything his friends wanted to do, as long as they were spending time together he tended to be content. He spots the two waiting for them at the second to last lane, waving when James sees him.

 

“He’s cute,” Eliot says under his breath, Quentin blushes a bit and the older man wraps a comforting arm around him.

 

“So’s she.” Margo purrs at the sight of Julia, Quentin snorts. Julia rushes to meet them, smiling brightly and pulling Quentin into a hug, it felt like had been a while since he’d seen her despite it not being long at all.

 

“Hey, Q.” She greets, pulling back to look at Eliot and Margo.

 

“Oh uh…” Quentin looks on either side of him, gesturing awkwardly. “Jules, this is Eliot and Margo. Guys, this is my friend Julia.” He introduces, Eliot reaches out and takes the woman’s hand, flashing a charming smile.

 

“Lovely to meet you,” He says gracefully, Julia nods her head, then offers her hand to Margo.

 

“Quentin has told me so much about you.” She says, Margo hesitates before taking her hand.

 

“Not too much, hopefully.” She casts a playful look at Quentin, who blushes and steps past them to hug James.

 

“What’s up, man?” The taller man greets, turning his eyes to the two. “So these are the vampires?” He asks, Quentin feels the air tighten as Margo and Eliot glare daggers at his back. “I’m joking, dude. I know you love a good hickey.” He murmurs with a grin, Julia smacks James on the arm.

 

“Let’s play!” Julia insists.

 

-

 

“God, you really are awful.” Margo smirks at him as he returns to his seat gloomily, having bowled yet another gutter ball.

 

“Bambi,” Eliot chides, pulling Quentin down into the seat between them.

 

“I know, supportive, loving.” She says, as if it’s a conversation they’ve had before, waving a dismissive hand at the both of them. “Don’t worry, your bowling skills don’t reflect on your ass-eating skills.” She pats his arm, James chokes on his drink from his seat across from them.

 

“Margo, it’s your turn!” Quentin says immediately, the woman pinches his reddened cheek and gets to her feet. James is grinning ear to ear at him, Quentin slouches against Eliot. The man tugs on a lock of his hair, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

 

“Meet me in the bathroom in three minutes,” He gets up without another word, leaving Quentin confused and vaguely concerned. He waits, watches James get up to take his turn, and then heads off to go to the bathroom.

 

When Quentin steps into the bathroom, he hesitates, looking around as he steps further inside. He walks past the stalls, onto the other side where the sinks are, and doesn’t spot Eliot. He frowns to himself, turning to leave when he startles at the sight of Eliot standing near the door.

 

“Jesus Christ,” He mutters, Eliot smirks at him, obviously amused.

 

“You can call me daddy,” He quips, Quentin snorts and rolls his eyes. “Quentin, darling, do me a favor, huh?” He asks, Quentin shifts his weight from one foot to the other and rubs his arm. “Turn around, grab the sink, bend over.” He says, twisting his finger in a circular motion, Quentin’s eyes widen.

 

“I-It’s almost your turn again,” He says weakly, Eliot shrugs his shoulders.

 

“Margo will roll for me, now c’mon.” He twirls his finger again, Quentin carefully turns around and places shaking hands on the edge of the sink. He glances up at himself in the mirror, cheeks starting to flush as Eliot walks up behind him.

 

The man drags his hands over Quentin’s sides, moving down and reaching around, fingers brushing his crotch before unbuttoning his pants. Quentin squeezes his eyes shut and ducks his head, feeling exposed as Eliot pulls his jeans and underwear down to his thighs.

 

“Did… Did you lock the door?” He asks, Eliot makes a noncommittal noise. “E-El!” He complains, Eliot clicks his tongue in a disapproving manner.

 

“It’ll be quick, I’d love to take you right here, but you walk funny after you get fucked. Plus, we don’t want to make too much of a mess.” He says casually, there’s a crinkling noise and then Eliot’s cold, wet fingers are brushing his hole.

 

“El, someone could hear…” He’s already short of breath, embarrassed, anxious, unfortunately turned on.

 

“Then you’d better be quiet, then, huh?” He squeezes Quentin’s hip in warning and pushes into him with one finger. Quentin’s legs tense up just to keep his weight steady, leaning hard against the sink and adjusting his grip.

 

“El,” He’s already getting hard, but he’s afraid of being discovered. He can’t see anything but Eliot at his back, though he knows that all it would take was a few steps into the bathroom to spot them. Eliot doesn’t seem to mind, working his finger in slowly with some lube that he apparently brought with him in preparation for this. It burns a little, he’s too nervous to really relax, and Eliot seems to pick up on this.

 

“Come on, sweetheart. Daddy just wants to make you feel good, don’t you want that?” He reaches around with his hand, traipsing firm fingertips along his stomach, dipping them down teasingly into the grooves of his hips.

 

“Y-Yes.” Quentin swallows, nodding his head eagerly.

 

“Yes, what?” Eliot pulls his finger out and circles his hole tauntingly, Quentin tries to push back against it.

 

His breath escapes him when Eliot’s hand grabs the back of his neck and pushes his head down, pressing his forehead against the mirror as he pushes back in with two fingers. A low moan reverberates from Quentin’s chest, it sounds so much louder in the empty bathroom, he can feel his face getting red as he turns his cheek against the mirror.

 

“Yes, sir?” His voice is a whimper, Eliot twists his fingers and pushes all the way in, he stifles another noise and tries not to move.

 

“Yes….” Eliot urges again, Quentin’s short-circuiting brain tries to connect the dots.

 

“Yes… D-Daddy?” He tries, feeling Eliot’s breath against his shoulder as he chuckles softly.

 

“Good boy,” He crooks his fingers up, pads of his fingers brushing against Quentin’s prostate and making his entire body jump as he practically humps the porcelain sink. He gasps, chest jumping as his dick throbs with arousal, his hands move to brace himself against the mirror. “You look so pretty like this, you know that?” He croons.

 

Quentin remains quiet, the man’s fingers are skilled, even if they’re not enough to fill him like his cock is. He suddenly has the urge to ask to get fucked here, for Eliot to pull him back and bite him, drink from him. His breath is fogging up the mirror, and all he can think about is Eliot’s firm hands and the dick that is so unfairly not inside him right now.

 

“Anyone could come inside right now, see what a pretty little slut you are, couldn’t they?” He asks, pressing into his prostate again and making him whine loudly, trailing off into a pathetic whimper as his bowling shoes scrape against the tiles in search of a better footing. “Just for daddy, hm?” He questions, Quentin nods his head quickly.

 

He never was one for public displays of affection, but the thought of someone coming in and seeing him bent over the sink with his jeans around his thighs like some commonplace whore. He shivers, Eliot nips at his shoulder and starts to suck on his skin. Even when he wasn’t biting, Eliot was always putting marks on his skin, wanting Quentin to know who he belonged to.

 

“E-Eliot, ple-please.” He whimpers, pushing back again. Eliot hums against his shoulder and moves to his neck, starting up a new hickey that would definitely be visible. James and Julia would know, Margo would definitely know, what an easy fuck he was. All it took was a few minutes of privacy to get him to bend over.

 

“This is just the beginning; my fingers aren’t anything compared to the strap-on Margo is going to split you open on tonight.” He says, voice deeper with lust, Quentin shifts his head and can see Eliot in the reflection of the mirror. His eyes dark, fangs barely visible between his parted lips.

 

“Margo?” Eliot starts to rub on his prostate, forcing him up on his toes as he scrambles for something to hold onto.

 

“If there’s one thing my Bambi loves, it’s using her favorite pink dildo to show a boy who rules the house.” He mutters, adjusting his fingers and slipping a third one in, reaching around to grab his dick. He’s rock hard and he knows it, not flagging in the slightest at the concept of Margo fucking him. He felt so special, under all this attention.

 

“S’it big?” Quentin can’t help but ask, lights flashing under his eyelids as he leans back against Eliot.

 

“It’s not the biggest, but it’s bigger than mine.” He twists his hand around Quentin’s dick, stroking his thumb under the head and over his slit.

 

“F-Fuck,” Quentin’s breath stutters.

 

“Come for me, baby. My special boy, I’m always going to take care of you, make you feel so good.” He strokes faster, rubbing insistently against that spot inside Quentin that makes his stomach tighten. He presses a few soft kisses to Quentin’s neck, and there’s a welling of tears behind his eyelids that he’s not sure is from the intensity of it all or the blatant affection he’s being shown.

 

He comes over Eliot’s fist and the sink, gasping and panting as he leans back, legs weak. Eliot pulls his fingers out and reaches around him to wash his hands off quickly, still kissing Quentin’s shoulder. He pulls the younger’s underwear and pants back up, buttoning them carefully and holding him firmly in his arms.

 

“So good for me, good boy.” He sways them back and forth for a minute, Quentin still catching his breath and riding the high.


End file.
